Second Woman. How do you know that?
First Woman. Because she did a great marvel under my own eyes. My sorrow and my bitter grief! I did a thing seven times worse than what you did. It was fear before your husband was on you when you refused her the night's lodging; but the hardness and the misery in my own heart made me refuse her fruit she asked of me. She herself and the man that was with her were going by; and the day came close on her and hot, and there was a large tree of cherries in my garden. She looked up then, and she took a longing for them. 'O right woman!' she said; 'there is a desire come on me to have a few of your cherries; maybe you will give me a share of them.' 'I will not give them,' said I, 'to any stranger at all travelling the road like yourself.' 'Give them to me, if it is your will,' says she, quiet, and nice, and gentle, 'for I am not far from the birth of my child; and I have a great longing for them.'
I don't know what was the bad thing was in my heart; but I refused her again. No sooner was the word out of my mouth than the big tree bent down of itself to her, and laid its twigs across the wall, and out on the road, till she could put out her hand and take her fill of the cherries.
Second Woman. That was a great miracle, without doubt.
First Woman. It was so; and grief came to me after that for refusing her; for I knew by it that God had a hand in her. And I took this branch in my hand, and I followed her to the stable to ask pardon of her.
Second Woman. Is it not a wonder how we came here together on the same search?
First Woman. I think she will be wanting help, for they said to me in the inn she was not far from the birth of her child; and I made as good haste as I could. Maybe we are in time to give her help yet.
Second Woman. I will knock at the door.
First Woman. Do so.
Second Woman. Wait a while; there are strangers coming up this road from the west.